


I'm Here

by QueenAng



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other, Reunions, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23233012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAng/pseuds/QueenAng
Summary: Prowl wasn’t supposed to be on the mission. They weren't supposed to find an abandoned sparkling. And, according to Kup, Springer wasn't supposed to know about his past.
Relationships: Prowl & Springer (Transformers), Prowl/Tarantulas
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111





	I'm Here

Prowl wasn’t supposed to be on the mission. In fact, officially, there wasn’t even supposed to _be_ a mission.

“You’re not needed here,” Springer had snapped, when Prowl showed up outside their ship a few kliks before lift-off. He grabbed the crate of supplies he had come down for and started back up the ramp.

Prowl fell quickly into step behind him. “This is madness,” Prowl said, his tone as infuriatingly even as ever. “You must see that, Springer. I admire your willingness to leap headfirst into every situation you think requires your special aid, but this is—”

“—my fight,” Springer finished, dropping the crate down. It landed with a resounding crash. “Not yours.”

The police car stared at him with an unperturbed glare. Springer may have been a dangerous mech in his own right, but Prowl had spent the better part of an eons-long war defending his point of view to Optimus Prime himself. “I must advise you against—”

“I don’t want your advice,” Springer retorted.

He started to move deeper into the ship, but paused. Prowl hadn’t begun to follow again. “Look.” His voice became quieter. “I know you came back for me in the Noise Maze. I know somewhere deep down, somehow, you care about this team. If you want to stay and help us, you’re welcome, but if you’re here for anything else, I want you off my ship.”

Prowl’s servos were laced together behind his back. His optics, dull blue like a mech low on Energon, looked somewhere near Springer, but not directly at him.

“Technically,” Prowl said to Springer’s back, “it’s _my_ ship.”

But he didn’t try to stop them. Springer wasn’t sure where Prowl vanished to, but he didn’t see the mech on the deck below as they took off. Since the Noise Maze incident, Springer had reluctantly developed a greater patience with Prowl. Perhaps he wasn’t a drone – but that still didn’t mean he was a good mech.

They found the coordinates they were meant to go to easily enough. What followed was, in Springer’s memory banks, a blurry series of escapades that included crashing on the planet below none-too-gently, nearly burning down the outside sector of a town, blowing into a Maximal base and generally wreaking havoc.

Once the last of the enemies was struck down, they began the usual search through the wreckage of the base. A few Wreckers stayed back to set up a defendable camp for the night, lest a few more Maximals pop up nearby. Springer and Kup took the first patrol around the perimeter, while Prowl had settled somewhere out of sight from the camp.

Kup was going on with another one of his war stories that Springer had heard before, and when he first heard the quiet whir, he assumed it was part of his processor shutting down from post-battle boredom. When it repeated, this time in slightly different tone, he paused, as did Kup.

“Aw, scrap,” Kup said.

Springer launched himself over a pile of rubble destroyed by stray laser-fire. It took one more soft whir for him to locate the source of the noise, faintly issuing from a crevasse formed beneath a fallen column propped slightly up at the end. He paused, because this had to be a trap, this was such an easy trap idea, and there was no way that—

Kup pushed him out of the way and knelt to the ground. His blue optics vaguely pierced the darkness beneath the fallen pillar. He reached in, and Springer heard the sound of dust and rubble giving way, and then a piercing cry split the air.

“Mean little thing, aren’t you?” Kup said, as the sparkling he pulled out kicked weakly as his servos.

“It’s… not a Maximal,” Springer said slowly.

Kup rose back up to his pedes, doing his best to keep the squirming mass of protoform from kicking itself back onto the floor. The faint whirring noises it had made now seemed to sound more like hisses.

“The town back there was mech-friendly,” Kup said. “Or was, ‘til we smashed half of it. They might’ve just nabbed him from a home.”

Springer just nodded, not quite ready to ask questions yet.

“It wouldn’t be the— _Primus_ , kid, stop it! — first time that— _hey_!”

Springer peered over Kup’s shoulder to see the little bot gnashing his jaws, tiny servos trying to capture a hold on Kup’s own.

“I think it’s hungry,” Springer said sagely.

“You think?” Kup retorted.

Springer quickened his step until he walked beside Kup, able to peer more closely at the little creature. “What are we going to do?” he asked. “Only carriers can process energon for sparklings. He seems far too young to wean off it.” Then Springer paused. “Wait. How old is he?”

“Pit if I know, kid,” Kup said. “Do I look like a babysitter to you?”

“You trained cadets at the War Academy,” Springer replied. “Surely you must have seen a few sparklings. You saw me.”

For a long moment, Kup said nothing, and they walked along in silence aside from the groaning of the ruined building around them. He sighed. “I only ever saw one sparkling this young. You were a special case, kid.”

Springer knew that. It was one of the many stories Kup told, though only to him. Plenty of mechs without other places to go ended up as cadets, but Kup had taken a special interest in him.

“Because you knew I was going to be the greatest Autobot ever?” Springer had teased.

“No, _Thunderclash_ ,” Kup had retorted. It took him a moment to voice the words, “Because I promised your carrier I would.”

And while Kup loved his stories, that was one he just wouldn’t tell.

When Springer was a cadet under his pede, he had said, “You wouldn’t understand, kid. It’s grown-mech stuff.”

When Springer was his best student, it changed to, “It’s not the right time, kid. You need to focus on you and your training now.”

When Springer began to lead the Wreckers, he finally admitted, “I’ll tell you when your carrier said to tell you: When he’s on his death-bed or in the Well.”

The most Springer had ever gotten out of Kup was after long cycles of planning. He bought the strongest engex he could find, threw a huge party with the Wreckers, and got Kup drunk out of his mind. He had thought, while guiding Kup to his quarters, that he might have gone a little over-board and there was nothing coherent Kup could string together for him now, but as he dropped Kup onto his recharge berth, the old mech had said, “You gotta stop, kid. You’ve got this thing – this idea – in your mind that I’m gonna spill my processor one day and you and your carrier will have some heartfelt reunion. That’s not what’s gonna happen. You’re a Wrecker; you don’t get happy endings. _He_ certainly doesn’t. I took you for a reason.”

Kup woke the next cycle with a killer processor ache and no memory of the night before, or so he said. Springer didn’t have the spark to ask again.

When they made it back to the makeshift camp, the sparkling in Kup’s arms still relentlessly trying to either free himself or pin Kup’s servo down, they were met with utter silence.

“Uh. Whatchya got there?”

“Megatron,” Kup deadpanned. “The frag you think it is?”

The Wrecker exchanged a wide-opticked glance with his neighbor.

“It’s not actually Megatron,” Springer said.

“Well, it wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing that’s happened,” one of them muttered defensively.

Kup struggled to readjust the sparkling in his grasp again. “Someone work on dealing out rations,” he said gruffly, as though the old warrior wasn’t holding an adorable baby in the middle of a destroyed warzone and this was just like any other mission they’d undertaken. “The last half of the perimeter needs to be patrolled too.” When no one moved, and all optics were still on Kup – well, on the sparkling, really – Kup snapped, “Now, mechs!”

No one argued with Kup when he used that tone of voice.

A sudden wave of motion swept across the makeshift camp as mechs raced to undertake a duty. Springer was almost caught up in it as well, quickly grabbing and sub-spacing a ration of energon, but then he caught sight of Kup sneaking off to the side without a word.

No way was the old mech really thinking about leaving camp with a sparkling! It was far too dangerous out there. They hadn’t even finished clearing the perimeter yet! The Wreckers may not make good babysitters, but at least they could work as a group to keep him safe.

Springer began to follow him up the gently sloping mountain of rubble, the noise echoing from their camp disguising the sound of his pedes. He saw Kup come to a half just over the highest part of the ridge, and so Springer stopped as well.

“Prowl,” Kup said softly.

Springer heard the sound of a mech rising to his pedes, and a long silence followed it. “That was… not expected,” Prowl finally said.

“Yeah, well” — Kup stopped, and the sparkling hissed as he was jostled when Kup moved — “he’s hungry.”

Prowl sighed. “Kup…”

“I’ll bring you up an extra ration,” Kup said, and without waiting for Prowl’s response, turned around and began to come back down the hill, only to face Springer instead.

Kup’s expression was an unreadable scowl.

Springer quickly reached into his subspace and drew out the energon cube he had grabbed. “I have Prowl’s ration,” he said.

Kup’s look didn’t change, but he stepped out of Springer’s way and gestured him up the ridge.

Springer hauled himself the rest of the way up and onto the sloping slab of metal Prowl had claimed for himself. Prowl was situated against the back wall of the building, his doorwings low. He had the sparkling cradled low, partially below his bumper. He had already transformed away part of his wrist armor and tugged free an fuel line.

Springer stayed at the edge of the slope. “Only carriers can processor energon for sparklings,” he said.

“Ah, good, so the Academy does have satisfactory cyberbiology classes. I had wondered a few times.”

Springer knelt down where he had stood, placing the cube down before him. It was within reaching distance of Prowl, had he been able to use either of his servos. Springer wasn’t willing to get any closer to the mech he thought he had known. What else did he have wrong about Prowl?

“You had a sparkling, then,” Springer said slowly.

Prowl didn’t say anything.

“What happened to him?” Springer asked. “Did— did he die? Did your bonded split and take him—”

“I was never bonded,” Prowl said. Springer could hear the gears in his jaw grinding.

Springer couldn’t help the questions that immediately fell from his vocalizer, to stunned to properly screen the moment. Prowl and being with someone didn’t exactly fit together. “Are you still together? Is _he_ alive? Where is—?”

“Dead.” Prowl’s voice had gone cold. The sparkling squirmed suddenly in Prowl’s grasp, a tiny fist rising from its huddled form, and Prowl’s voice grew softer: “I had Impactor kill him, for what he did to us.”

“For— oh.” No bond. Resulted in Prowl’s wrath, with aid from others. No mention of Prowl ever seeing anyone, because apparently he hadn’t. “But you had the sparkling.”

Prowl’s servos traced a slow pattern over the forehelm of the sparkling, and it took Springer a moment to recognize that he was drawing the shape of a chevron. It seemed to work at calming the sparkling back down, at the very least, though Springer figured it had more to do with the calm touch than the pattern. Gentleness was not something he expected Prowl to ever demonstrate. His movements were slow and steady, and Springer could almost imagine the feel of the soft touch traced along his own forehelm.

“I wanted the sparkling,” Prowl said. “I hadn’t wanted him.”

“Where is he?” Springer asked. “Your sparkling. What happened to him?” Springer might have been young when the war officially started, but he thought he would remember if the second-in-command of the Autobot army had had a sparkling shadowing him.

Not a moment after he asked it, he realized it was probably another bad question. Prowl didn’t have a sparkling at the beginning of the war, so there wasn’t one around. Some sparklings were forged with fatal coding errors or weak sparks. Maybe he had been one of the early victims of the Decepticons. Either way, he was no longer around when Springer entered the war.

“I gave him away,” Prowl said, in the same tone he might say ‘The weather is a tad too cloudy for optimal take-off’ or ‘The Decepticons have breached the hull of our flagship’.

The Prowl that Springer knew had never given up anything at any cycle of his life. He hadn’t given up his Enforcer decals after he joined the Autobots, and he hadn’t given up his Autobrand after the war ended. He had never forfeited his claim as Autobot tactician even after exchanging blows with Optimus Prime. He hadn’t given up his crusade against the Decepticons even after four million years of going at it with them.

“You just… gave him up,” Springer echoed, more in disbelief than judgment.

Prowl finally looked at him, one optical ridge cocked higher than the other. “The war was about to begin in earnest. Optimus Prime trusted me as his tactician. A war room is no place to raise a sparkling.”

“The war is over,” Springer said. “Why not go find him?”

“Why do you assume I ever lost track of him?” Prowl replied.

“So he knows you’re his ca—”

“Of course not,” Prowl scoffed, and returned to tracing the pattern against the sparkling’s forehelm. “That would have been far too major a security risk. A secret never stays a secret between two mechs; something would have slipped and others would have found out. If the Decepticons ever managed to capture him, then I would be compromised, and they would _know_ I was compromised. No, I entrusted him to a good mech to be raised.”

“The war is over,” Springer said again. “You could find him again. Have a family, for real this time. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I want him to be happy,” Prowl said quietly. “I like to believe he is. It’s not my place to risk disrupting that.”

“I would want to know,” Springer said. Prowl fixed him with a curious look. “I mean, I grew up not knowing my carrier and sire. Kup shuts off his vocalizer if I ever try to ask. If I had a chance to know, I would find out. How do you know he isn’t looking too?”

“His guardian would know better than to mention me,” Prowl said.

“Kup always says he shouldn’t ever say anything about my carrier,” Springer said, “but I’ve gotten him to let some things slip. Me. Imagine if there was a mini-Prowl running around interrogating ‘bots. He’d be onto you in cycles, even if no-bot said a word.”

Prowl looked back down at the sparkling in his arms. Springer imagined their little debate was over, and he had come out with the last word, but of course Prowl wouldn’t let that happen. “Kup doesn’t _let things slip_ ,” Prowl muttered.

“He does!” Springer said, and began to list off everything he knew. “I know my carrier was some sort of fighter, like an Enforcer or a gladiator, because once when he was training me, he said I’d be just as good a shot as him if I kept practicing. I know he was part of the government, because he was able to get his name off everything related to me. I think he was in some sort of ops team, like the Wreckers, because Kup said we don’t get happy endings and he said my carrier doesn’t either. I know—” Springer paused, because really, what else was there? Kup didn’t actually let much slip, but he couldn’t exactly back down now, with Prowl watching him so perceptively. “I know my carrier was from Ultihex, because Kup called it my home-town.”

Prowl stared at him for a long moment, his gaze perfectly impassive and guarded as always. “Your carrier,” he drawled, “wasn’t from Ultihex.”

Of course Prowl was able to pick up on the _one_ lie he told. But it was far too late to back down from it now. “Yes, he was. You think you know better than Kup?”

“Kup is a good mech,” Prowl said. “He only lies to you by omission, nothing else. I’m from Praxus.”

It took a surprisingly long moment for Springer to put it together. First, because it seemed too easy a conclusion to draw. Then, because it seemed too impossible a conclusion to draw.

“You,” Springer said slowly.

“Now do you believe I am correct?” Prowl said. “Some truths are best left unspoken for good reason. While I—”

“Why?”

Prowl paused. “Pardon?”

“Why did you leave me?” Springer asked.

Prowl’s gaze seemed to soften. “I told you. The war was beginning. I couldn’t keep you and help Optimus. He needed my help with the war, and you needed to be someplace safe. A warzone, that was not.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Springer asked, his voice growing. “You said a secret never stays secret between mechs, I understand that, but I’m ops! I’m a Wrecker! I never would have said anything if you had told me and—”

There was a quiet, choked cry. Prowl’s gaze flickered back down to the sparkling in his arms, which he quickly readjusted. The sparkling latched back onto his offered line, quickly falling silent. Prowl once more began to trace the chevron pattern on the sparkling’s helm, and the light in his optics faded away as he slipped back into recharge.

And Springer knew. “You used to do that,” he said softly. “To me.”

Prowl didn’t look back up at him. “You were always a devil to get to recharge. You wanted nothing more than to crawl out of our berth and find your way into every possible crevasse in that room. It was the only way to keep you still.” He slowed in tracing the pattern. “All Praxian mechs have chevrons. Your sire was Iaconian, and you lacked one. Nevertheless, it was a sort of… tradition in Praxus, to trace the outline of one on the helm when you first hold a sparkling. A greeting.”

Springer looked down at the little sparkling. “So you keep saying _‘hello’_ to him?”

“Not _‘hello’_. More like _‘I’m here’_.”

“I remember it,” Springer murmured. “And I _know_ it was you, because Kup never did it.” Kup’s idea of a reassuring touch was a hard clap on the shoulder.

“It’s a Praxian thing,” Prowl said, and when Springer looked up, he saw there was the faintest of smiles on Prowl’s face.


End file.
